


We've Been Together For A Long Time

by melps



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sexytimes, Unrequited Love, a few of them are related, everything under the sun - Freeform, sadboi times, unrelated oneshots, when i say they are unrelated i am sometimes lying, you'll know which ones are which
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-29 14:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 20,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20083969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melps/pseuds/melps
Summary: An unrelated series of Royai oneshots; ratings vary but will go no higher than T. Cross-posted from FFN.





	1. Mistletoe

**author's note:** this fic was originally posted to FFN between 2012 and 2013. I am not cross-posting everything from that account, only a few select works that I think still stand up well today (which, let's be real, are not many). This is not my best work, nor my most recent, so take it as you will.

* * *

"Are you enjoying yourself, Lieutenant?"

Riza looked up. She stood by herself under a door frame in Maes Hughes's house, at a Christmas party thrown for all of Mustang's men as well as Major Armstrong. The Colonel was sauntering towards her, a smile on his face and scotch in his hand. She could see he was loosening up; she just hoped he didn't let himself get too intoxicated. Alcohol shouldn't be allowed around so much hot open flame.

The Lieutenant blushed at the double entendre in her own thought.

Shaking her head to clear it, she looked up at him and gave him a half-smile. "Yes. I'm having a wonderful time. It was very thoughtful of Hughes to invite us all, though I'm not sure how he managed to convince his wife…"

Mustang shrugged. "Their daughter's staying with family for the night, and we all promised not to get too drunk. I don't think Mrs. Hughes minds too much." He changed the subject, looking her over. "You look lovely tonight," he told her simply. "I don't think I can remember the last time I saw you out of uniform."

Riza was suddenly very conscious of the modest piece she'd picked out for the evening, glad it was appreciated. She tried not to let it show how much it pleased her to hear it. "Thank you, sir. You clean up well yourself."

They stood there in the doorway, smiling softly at each other for a long moment. Suddenly, out of the dull roar they'd been tuning out, they heard Jean Havoc yell, "Aw, just kiss her, Mustang!"

The pair froze, shocked. Had they heard him right? Was he serious?

Roy was the first to regain his composure. "What the hell, Havoc?" He meant to play it off cooly, but his voice betrayed him by shooting through a few octaves.

Breda, Fuery, Falman, Hughes, Armstrong and even Gracia had all gathered to see what they were yelling about. Riza got a very bad feeling when each of them registered the same expression.

"What are you all staring at?" Hawkeye asked sternly, crossing her arms, trying to mask her embarrassment with irritation.

Hughes pointed to the ceiling above their heads. "Mustang, you dog, getting your First Lieutenant under the mistletoe!"

_Mistletoe?!_

Roy and Riza's heads snapped up in unison, both their eyes widening at the plant taped up there. In all honesty, neither had noticed it until it was pointed out. They both started spluttering, trying to explain that that wasn't why they were standing there, that wouldn't be appropriate, etc., etc. The men weren't buying it.

"You can't back out now!"

"Mistletoe rules!"

"It's a Christmas tradition, you have to do it!"

Roy, his face red, turned his head towards Riza. "They're not gonna drop it."

She nodded, sure own her face matched his. "I know."

He faced her full on. "Would… would you mind?"

Yes. She would. Or at least, she was supposed to. She wasn't really sure. All she knew was that, miraculously, she somehow hadn't fainted of embarrassment yet.

Riza didn't really see a way out of it. If they didn't do it, The men would pester them about it all night. If they did, they'd bring it up every chance they got for the rest of their lives. Either way, she and the Colonel weren't going to live this down.

Suddenly she made up her mind. If they were going to be ridiculed for it, she may as well get something pleasant in return.

"No, I wouldn't."

Roy's eyes widened - she could tell he hadn't expected anything less than getting slapped for even asking. But once he realized she wasn't going to hit him, he smiled and took her chin, leaning forward and closing his eyes. She felt his breath tickle her lips before the soft flesh of his mouth pressed against hers. It was brief and gentle, but it was still enough to make her gasp and blush as though she were a child who had never been kissed before. Though it was true she had never kissed _him_ before, and she found she rather liked it.

The hoots and hollers brought the pair back to their senses and they quickly pulled apart, embarrassed. They did their best to shoo the men off; Gracia, noticing the color of Riza's face, graciously dragged her husband away, intending on giving them some space. Hawkeye was grateful to the woman and made a mental note to find a way to thank her.

As the rest of them settled down and followed the Hughes's, the blonde motioned to follow suit, but was surprised to feel Roy's hand reach out and intertwine with hers. She gazed up at him with a questioning look in her eyes.

He gave her a small smile. "Merry Christmas, Riza."


	2. Hospital

Riza stiffened slightly as she heard the cot next to hers creak. Roy was sitting up in bed, trying to find his way to her in the darkness, though it was only a few feet that separated them. Her throat tightened; she could see him just fine, even with the low lighting, and it twisted her heart up to know he couldn't see her. He shuffled towards her hospital bed, his hands outstretched to keep ware of his surroundings.

She sat up and took his hand, leading him to her, sliding over so he could lay down. As soon as he was on the bed, his arms reached out to grab her however he could and yanked her to him. Her face collided with his chest, and he buried his face in her hair, gripping her fiercely to him.

Roy had almost lost her, and the last thing he'd seen before being thrust into the portal was her eyes wide with fear, her blood still staining her cheek and throat. They had tried to hold on to one another after her near death, and almost the instant he'd let go of her, tragedy had befallen him. Riza didn't think she'd ever forgive herself for letting him leave her side.

They held each other close, with no intentions of ever letting go again.

Riza would have to have a word with the nurse in the morning for leaving the window open. It was raining on both of them.


	3. Numb

Riza sat on Roy Mustang's hospital bed with a pill bottle in her hand and a very cross expression that may as well not have been there for all the good it did the blind man. The only reason she sat was because she still didn't have much strength after the extreme amount of blood loss she'd suffered.

"Sir, I'm not asking again. You need to take your medicine. Next time I'm asking the nurse to stay here until you take it if I'm not awake to make you myself."

Roy sighed. "I'm fine, Hawkeye. Don't worry about me. You should be in bed resting, not yelling at me."

Riza wasn't fazed. "It's my job to watch out for you, Colonel. And right now it's my job to make sure you take your pain medication."

Roy was quiet for a long minute before he lifted his head up to meet where he thought hers should be. "How badly did it hurt?"

"How badly did what hurt, sir?" she asked, though she already knew what he meant. She didn't want to cause him any more suffering by recounting the pain she'd been through. Having to watch her go through it would have hurt him enough.

His forehead creased, a pained look overtaking his face. "You know what I'm talking about, Lieutenant," he choked out.

Riza's eyes closed. "Why would you want to know, sir? You've been through enough of hell yourself. Why take on someone else's pain?"

"Because you aren't just 'someone.' You're mine; you're my Lieutenant and I will always bear the guilt for the injuries you've sustained." He paused, then continued quietly, "At least tell me if you're still in any pain."

She opened her eyes, and her hands tightened into fists. She was still in much more pain than she was willing to admit. She decided to downplay it, for his sake. He had no need to see more blood on his hands than there already was. "No, sir; I'm just rather numb from the neck up."

Roy's eyes flashed. "Numb, huh?"

Riza's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "Yes, sir. Why?"

Instead of answering her, he tentatively reached out for her. Automatically, she moved closer to him so that only a few feet separated them. She touched his arm to let him know she was within reach.

"Close your eyes, Lieutenant."

She didn't know where this was going, but she trusted him. Riza did as she was told. "They're closed."

She felt his hand bump her shoulder, presumably searching for her face. He moved it to her throat, brushing his thumb against her skin carefully, as if afraid of hurting her. His fingers traced up to her cheek, and she sighed without meaning to. His hand paused at the sound. She bit her lip, wishing she was allowed to open her eyes and see his reaction.

There was a change in the air, and suddenly his thumb found itself moving over her chin, then her lips. He stopped there, rather purposefully, and all of a sudden Riza felt very nervous. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, but she was cut off by a pair of very soft lips pressing gently against her own.

Riza's mind froze, then ran off in a hundred directions. What the hell was he doing? Was he… _kissing_ her? But why? What made him think this was okay?

All right, maybe she enjoyed it; maybe a little too much. And so what if she'd been wanting him to do this for years? She wasn't going to let that stop her from putting him in his place. She jerked away from him, eyes flashing open and her hand reaching up to slap him.

He was even more in tune with her than she realized, if that was possible. He didn't need his sight to know her open palm was flying towards his face. He caught her wrist in midair and held it up between their faces. When he spoke, his tone was both angry and pained.

"Don't ever lie to me again."

Riza's eyes widened, and she looked away. "Not even if it's for my sake, Lieutenant," he continued. "I need you to always be honest with me."

She nodded, her eyes still not meeting his."My apologies, sir."

"I won't ask again: how much pain are you in?"

Her shoulders hunched inwards and she took a deep breath. "A lot of pain, sir."

That was what he had probably been expecting to hear, but she could tell it hurt him all the same. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he whispered.

She tentatively laid a hand on his arm. "As am I."

Anything else she might have said was forgotten as Roy groped for her and pulled her into his arms. Neither could tell who initiated it, but somehow their lips met again, igniting a burning spark between them. But this time, Riza had no intention of fighting it.


	4. Lighter

Roy wiped the sweat off his forehead as he stepped outside, barely remembering to kick the doorstop in place so he wouldn't have to walk all the way around to the front of his building when his lunch break ended. It was nearing August, and Eastern HQ didn't seem to have heard of that nifty little invention called a fan; it was hotter inside than outside due to the masses of people in the building. His military jacket was off and his top three buttons were undone before he even scanned the area to see if anyone was out here who would catch him doing it. He sat down on the cement, taking a drink from the canteen he'd brought with him. For a man who was useless when it came to water, he found there really wasn't anything he wanted more right then.

"Sir?"

His head snapped up. Maybe he should have checked before breaking protocol at work. His hand was halfway to his jacket before realizing who had addressed him.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

"What are you doing out here?"

He set the top half of his uniform down again, relaxing. He doubted she would report him; she wasn't in the habit of getting him in trouble with the higher-ups. "I was just escaping to get some fresh air," he replied calmly. "What are you doing out here?" he asked.

She crossed her arms, her hand looking suspiciously like it was hiding something. "Same as you are," she said smoothly.

He doubted it. "What's that in your hand, Lieutenant?"

Her face flushed slightly. "Nothing, sir," she lied.

Roy stood up, setting his water bottle down on the step and striding towards her. "Tell me what it is," he said, his voice turning playful. When she stuck her hand behind her back nervously, he darted closer towards her and reached behind her, grappling with her hand as she tried to keep him away. Hawkeye's other arm came up to push him back, her hand landing on his collarbone. He smirked at her for the briefest moment and ducked under her arm, reaching out and grabbing a small object from her tight grip. It fell from her palm and its contents scattered across the ground. He stared for a moment.

"Cigarettes?" he asked, surprised. A small green tube had shattered against the pavement, and after a second he realized that it was her lighter, was being the operative word. There was no way she was going to be able to get a flame out of it now. "Since when do you smoke?"

She turned her head away, ashamed. "Since Ishval," she confessed, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He didn't need to hear any more than that to understand.

"Why didn't I know?" he asked, frowning. He didn't think there were any secrets between them; the knowledge that there was, even something small like this, made him feel a little perturbed.

"It's not something I'm proud of, sir. I don't brag about it. And this is actually my first cigarette in two years; Havoc's been smoking in the office so much lately that I started craving it again. I finally broke down today. These are his, I'm just borrowing," she admitted, the words coming out in a rush.

"Well, damn," he muttered. "Now I owe Havoc a new lighter," Roy said with mock annoyance.

Hawkeye looked up at him and gave him a small smile, relieved that he wasn't judging her.

Roy returned the gesture and, noticing she hadn't started a cigarette yet, bent down to pick up the box. He took a stick that hadn't fallen on the dirty ground and stuck it between her lips. "I'll do you a favor, since I broke the lighter," he told her before reaching into his pocket.

Her forehead creased slightly in confusion, but understanding dawned on her features when he pulled out his ignition glove and slid it on. His hand came up to hover above her face, and he took a moment to look her in the eye and make sure she was okay with it before snapping lightly.

Hawkeye drew in a breath and turned her head to the side to blow out a puff of smoke. When she'd dispelled the toxic fumes from her mouth, she faced him again and smiled. Damn, twice in one day. I'm on a roll, Roy thought smugly to himself. "Thank you, sir."

He grinned in response.

"Just… please, don't tell anyone. Like I said, I'm not really very proud of this."

"Well, Havoc must already know, and he's really the one you should be worried about, with that mouth of his."

Her lips twitched. "To be honest, sir, I used the term 'borrow' rather loosely…"

Roy stared at her for a second before it clicked. "Wait, you mean-"

The lieutenant nodded wordlessly.

He laughed. "Fine, I won't tell anyone. But you have to promise not to tell anyone that I was out of uniform at work. Deal?"

He didn't miss the way her eyes raked over him, staring at his partially-exposed chest, as though she had just noticed that he wasn't properly dressed. Quickly her gaze snapped back up to his eyes, just a faint trace of blood in her cheeks.

"You have yourself a deal, sir."


	5. Warmth

Cold steel. Sharp pain. Riza can only suck in a slight gasp as the blade slices through the vulnerabe flesh of her warm throat. She doesn't scream; she can't. There are so many reasons.

She is Riza Hawkeye. She doesn't cry out in pain.

The colonel is watching. It would hurt him.

The doctor. She won't give him that satisfaction.

Mostly, though, it's only the fact that her vocal chords have been nipped with the sword that saves her from allowing a shrill scream to rip through her mutilated throat.

With that lone, muffled gasp, she falls to the ground with a dull thump, her eyes rolling back in her head and her hand blindly groping for the wound in an instinctual attempt to preserve her life. Her vision swims; the only thing she can make out is a dark mass kneeling on the ground a few yards away from her. Distantly, as though from a dream she's waking from - or, perhaps, falling into - she hears him yell her title, her rank. Even now, with sheer, undisguised panic and terror rippling through his voice, he refuses break uniform.

She forces herself to stay conscious long enough to assure the colonel she won't die on him, though her neck and throat sear with agony at the strain of her voice. She wills herself to have enough strength to bore her gaze into his, silently promising she won't forgive him if he tries to bring her back with alchemy.

After that, everything goes blurry. Warm blood pours out of her, leaving a chill seeping through her body. Sounds of a struggle drift to her ears, dancing around them as if unsure or uncaring whether they make their way in. Everything falls dark, and Riza is somewhat grateful. She's always had a hard time sleeping when the lights are on…

The next thing she's aware of, she's in some sort of sitting position, and she's cold. Very cold. Her heartbeat slugs through her eardrums, and she feels very little strength in her limbs. It takes her a long minute to realize that there's a heat enveloping her, a softness wrapped around her…

The colonel.

He's holding her. His arms are wound tightly around her and his face is buried in her hair. And if she isn't mistaken, his shoulders are shaking - though of course, that might just be her. They're so close she can't really tell.

She tries to apologize - for what, exactly, she doesn't quite remember. All she knows is that there is something for which to be sorry. But he cuts her off, gently admonishing her for speaking when she should be resting.

Depite what he's just told her, her eyes glaze over and she begins to thank him, and to tell him she's glad he understood her eye signal. No sooner are the first few words out of her mouth than she feels something warm cut her off.

His mouth, placed on hers.

She's startled, to say the least, though with the amount of blood in her system she doesn't have the facilities to generate a proper blush at his bold action. It's all she can do to close her eyes.

He pulls away just as her head begins to swim. "I thought I asked you to stop talking," he quietly reminds her, his voice quivering slightly.

Her eyes widen and she slowly exhales, a small smile on her lips. She apologizes through a glance, her eyes closing again as she rests against him for the moment. Her head falls against his chest, her ears picking up the strong thrumming from the other side of his ribcage. She knows she'll have to get up and help fight again soon, however she can manage.

But for now, for just this short, stolen moment, she'll rest and let his warmth sink into her.


	6. The Desert

To this day, he doesn't know how he heard it.

It was dark, and it was cold, and he was half-drunk, and just because he was "off-duty" for the night did not mean there weren't any soldiers left on the (not distant enough for comfort) field, shooting and screaming and blasting their way through whatever forsaken town the military was raping today. His own melancholy thoughts provided enough white noise that he shouldn't have been able to hear anything at all, and the cacophony of that damned war rang in his ears in his every waking moment. But somehow, through the fog of Hell's symphony that clung to him, he heard it. The soft sound of a woman crying.

He didn't know how he heard it, and maybe, in actuality, he didn't. He didn't even need to check the number printed on the front flap to know it was coming from her tent. He'd always seemed to gravitate towards her, consciously or otherwise.

Without so much as a second thought, he lifted the flap and stuck his head in.

The sight he was greeted with hardly surprised him, although it did send a surge of anger through him so violent he was grateful he'd already flung off his ignition gloves for the night. The image of her close-cropped hair was obscured by both the suffocating darkness and by her hands, fisted in the blonde locks. From what he could tell, she was about as close to the fetal position as a person could get sitting up; her elbows were propped up on her knees, her head down, ankles crossed. She was bawling, her skinny shoulders trembling violently as her body was wracked with sobs.

He spoke her name, barely loud enough for even himself to hear, yet somehow it reached her ears (or maybe it didn't). She froze and turned, just enough to peer at him from the corner of her eye. The cadet didn't salute, didn't attempt to straighten herself, didn't act on propriety at all. She simply stared at him, her large brown eyes haunting in their sorrow and guilt, made all the worse by the dark circles that advertised her inability to rest.

She said nothing, and he was sure that nothing she could have said would have made anything better, nor conveyed to him how broken she was any more than her stare had already betrayed. Without a word, he ducked into her tent, swaying only slightly, and knelt beside her. Her hands shot out to him of their own accord, and his arms didn't waste time asking permission before winding themselves around her malnourished frame. She gripped him like a lifeline, her head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. He felt the thin fabric of his undershirt grow wet, and what parts of his skin were exposed prickled at the sensation of her hot tears.

He stayed that way with her for as long as his burning legs would let him; he was still kneeling, the brunt of his weight being supported by his calves and the balls of his feet. Gently, he grabbed her shoulders and shifted her away from him, giving himself room to properly sit down. The moment he was situated, he scooped her up and held her in his lap. Her tears had slowed somewhat, but he knew she was nowhere near done crying herself out.

Suddenly it hit him. She was barely eighteen; hardly old enough to be considered an adult. And yet she'd seen more, done more, killed more than most men four times her age could imagine. The world had been cruel to her. She'd been naive (though so had he, once). There had been a time where she was innocent and young, back when her only worries were what to prepare for supper for herself, her father, and her father's apprentice. She was pretty, and smart, if maybe a little lacking in a sense of humor, and he was sure she'd had a bright future ahead of her before his idealistic dreaming had rubbed off on her.

And now here she was, paying the price for believing she could help people. For that was all she'd wanted, he knew, and maybe he should have tried to point her in a better direction when he'd had the opportunity, but it was far too late for that. Her soul was as stained as his, though she was currently worse for the wear. But that was only because his own time for grieving had passed - it had passed with his best friend in the middle of the night, when he was given freedom to mourn his victims and himself in his own way. He supposed he was paying it forward now, giving this girl he felt he'd always known her own chance at catharsis.

He didn't realize she'd fallen asleep for some time. He wanted desperately to join her, but that would require moving her, something he was loath to do. So instead, he cradled her head and let her sleep, watching over her and promising to keep her demons away as best he could.

* * *

In the early morning, just before dawn, her head whipped around, momentarily forgetting where she was. She felt warm, an extremely foreign sensation out here in the desert. One was either bitingly cold or swelteringly hot.

Looking up, she saw a familiar face gazing down at her with half-lidded eyes. It took a moment to process his arms around her, but when she realized their position, memories of the night before came flooding back. Judging by the bruised quality of the skin around his eyes, she guessed he hadn't slept all night.

Shifting forward, she placed a hand on the skin of his neck, her thumb brushing against his jawline, feeling slight stubble from a lack of shaving. Without much thought, she pulled him towards her, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. It lasted only a moment, and when she pulled away, she whispered a thank you into his ear.

And that was that. She stood, suddenly businesslike again, knowing that her time to fall apart had passed. She was a soldier, and she couldn't afford to break down at every opportunity. Last night would be her one and only slip, of that she would make sure.

She helped the Major to his feet, saluting him as he stood. He watched her knowingly; she got the feeling he'd stood in her shoes not long ago. He made no attempt to reach for her again, merely nodding and exiting her tent.

Last night, for just a small, stolen piece of their twisted lives, he had been Roy, and she Riza, two children who'd grown up together and had found solace in one another. But with the morning light they had shattered, and neither knew when, if ever, they could return to what they had once been.

Cadet Hawkeye didn't dwell on it, couldn't afford to. She had orders waiting to be received. She had a duty to the military, to her country.

She donned her uniform, slung her gun over her shoulder, and trudged out into the desert, shivering.


	7. Protector

**author's note:** content warning for child abuse

_"**Riza**_!"

The blonde's eyes widen. She knows that tone. She knows where he went tonight. She knows that slight slur in his words. She knows what's coming. He hasn't done this in years, but once the instinct to run is ingrained, it doesn't fade away.

Without hesitation, she drops the book in her hand and sprints out of her room and down the dusty corridor, skidding to a halt at the doorway across from the staircase. She doesn't even think to knock before hurling herself into the room. She is greeted by a pair of wide black eyes.

Roy - or, as she's been told to call him, Mr. Mustang - gapes at her only for a moment before realization dawns on his features. The head of the household bellows her name once more, his voice nearing the room, and, shaking, the girl's eyes scan the room for a place to hide. Her stomach drops as she realizes she's never been in his room before, and in her haste must have mistaken his bedroom for another in the house, for she could have sworn there was a large walk-in closet in here - one she'd planned to hide in.

Riza's scrambled brain is frozen in an indecisive state of fight-or-flight, and before she can get a grip on her muscles and take some sort of action, her father is looming in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth contorted in a fiendish snarl.

"There you are, you little bitch," he growls, the scent of alcohol pungent in the air around him.

Riza ducks as he reaches for her - presumably with the intent of striking her - but something stops the man. After a moment of cowering, when it registers that she did not encounter the pain she was expecting, her eyes flash up, seeing not the blonde tower of a man, but the young alchemist, her father's apprentice, shielding her. Even at seventeen, he is almost the height of his sensei, and definitely a force to be reckoned with. For all the fear the man can inspire when in a drunk rage, he is aging and not nearly as limber nor fit as his student.

Roy says nothing, but his intent is clear in his body language. _If you plan on hurting her, good luck getting past **me**._

The girl stands hunched behind Mustang, stifling her strangled breaths. The tension in the room is palpable, and Riza is sure someone's going to get hurt.

She's right. Berthold Hawkeye stumbles out of the room, but not before slapping his student's face with a sound _whack._

Roy falls off balance and tumbles into Riza, who barely manages to catch him before they both topple to the ground. The young man rights himself, holding a hand to his stinging cheek. He turns to face her and his eyes are wide with anxiety. "Are you all right?" he asks her urgently, his eyes searching hers.

Riza opens her mouth to tell him that yes, she's fine, he's the one who got hurt, but nothings escapes her save for a cry. Tears stream down her face and she falls to her knees, fisted hands covering her eyes.

The alchemist hesitates, unsure. He's never seen his master attack his daughter before; his brain is still trying to catch up with the last few minutes. It's a difficult thing to process. Furthermore, he isn't sure how to handle his current predicament. He doesn't know if it would be all right to touch Riza, to hug her, or if she would lash out at him for it.

Roy decides to go by instinct. Slowly, with the caution one would have in approaching a wild animal, he lowers himself to be eye level with her, reaching out to remove her hands from her face. She lets him, though refuses to meet his eyes.

"Riza? Will you look at me?" he whispers, her hands still balled up in his.

She tries; it's hard to see past the wall of tears in her eyes.

"He didn't hurt you," he reassures her, as though she hadn't deduced that on her own. "He _won't_ hurt you. Not while I'm here to protect you," he promises earnestly. "I won't let him touch you."

Riza stares at him for a long minute before falling into him, trying to muffle the sound of her sobs in his shoulder. Roy pauses only briefly before leaning his head against hers and rubbing her back, hoping to soothe her.

He lets her cry, feeling her tremble in his arms. He releases her as she pulls away from him when she's done. The girl's eyes rest on the bruise forming on his cheekbone. The sight is accompanied by the memory of Master Hawkeye - the man she could hardly call "Father" - striking him, the sickening sound of his flesh slapping the boy's cheek. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice gravelly.

Roy begins to protest, to tell her that it isn't her fault -_dammit, Riza, you can't blame yourself for this, it is **not** your fault_ -but she doesn't bother to listen. Instead she stands silently, heading for the door, her feet like lead. She feels his eyes on her as she leaves, though he makes no move to follow.

As she lies in bed that night, she resolves not to forget the way his skin had darkened, the way he held his hand to his face, cradling the injury meant for her.

_I won't let you be hurt again for my sake, Mr. Mustang, _she promises him silently. _I'll find a way to repay the favor. I'll find a way to protect you. Someday, I will_.


	8. Flowers

Riza Hawkeye had never been particularly feminine - she was a soldier, after all, something very uncommon among her sex - though she wasn't an overtly masculine woman either. She wasn't opposed to wearing the color pink occasionally, and she didn't entirely abhor dresses. There were lines - she refused to ever wear high heels, for one thing, and jewelry was unheard of, save for her pierced ears. She fell somewhere in the middle of the two categories, and she was perfectly okay with that.

When Roy offered her a car full of flowers, she realized she'd never given any thought to consider how she might react to a man giving her a gift of the sort, romantic or not (and it was most definitely _not_, or at least that's what she told herself). But upon hearing his offer, she came to the conclusion that she had no particular fancy for flowers.

They didn't smell good, despite what everyone said. They had their purpose in nature, but once picked they were useless. People stuck them in containers of water and tried to make a dead thing stay alive. She found it rather sad, actually. Why would a person give something that was dying as a token of affection?

This was what the rational side of her said. Her more emotional side, given more room to breathe after her rattling encounter with Selim - Pride - earlier that night, pointed out that they were pleasing to the eye, and more importantly, they were from the Colonel, her Colonel, and she would be happy to receive anything he offered her.

If only she had a damn vase.


	9. Girls

**author's note:** in continuity with _Protector._

* * *

Roy Mustang didn't know a damn thing about girls.

Sure, he lived with a tribe of them, but in no way did that make him an expert. After living with Madame Christmas from the time he was two – a grand total of 14 years – all he'd gathered about the opposite sex was that they were all certifiably insane. His sisters were the loudest, most hormonal creatures he'd ever encountered – there had been times when he was certain they did not belong to the same species as himself.

So when Roy knocked on the front door of the Hawkeye manor to find not a middle-aged man but a girl several years younger than himself, he had to bite back a yelp.

He had not been told that his new sensei had a daughter. He had not been told _anything_ about the man, really, save his address in order for Roy to be able to find him. The last thing he had been expecting was that he had children.

The girl was small, at least half a foot shorter than him, with bright yellow hair and large eyes the color of honeysuckle. She stared up at him in confusion for a long moment before understanding dawned on her features. "Are you Roy?" her high-pitched voice intoned.

He blinked. "Yeah," he answered lamely. "Who are you?"

The girl blushed but didn't answer. Instead, she stepped aside and opened the door wider, letting him into the house. "My father is in his study," she informed him quietly. "I'll go fetch him."

Roy stayed where he was on the porch for a long minute before following her in, watching her thin frame ascend up the staircase. He clutched the handles of his suitcases, suddenly filled with anxiety. Surely Master Hawkeye had known he was coming today?

When Berthold Hawkeye finally sauntered down the stairs, his timid daughter trailing behind him, his expression was one of aggravation, as though he had been interrupted from something extremely important which required his rapt attention. The man eyed him almost suspiciously.

"You're Mustang?" he barked.

Roy swallowed nervously and nodded. "Yessir."

His beady eyes pierced him; Roy squirmed uncomfortably. "You don't look like much," he concluded after a long moment of observation. Before the boy had a chance to respond, he asked, "Have you got the money?"

Roy froze for a moment before dropping his suitcases on the ground and diving into one of them, tearing through his packed-away clothes in search of the envelope his foster mother had handed him on his way out. He could feel the man's stare boring a hole in him as he frantically searched for the item. He hadn't been here five minutes and already the man terrified him.

"I got it!" he proclaimed, waving the envelope in the air triumphantly. He handed it to his sensei with a slight bow. Hawkeye grumbled something unintelligible before traipsing back up to his study, barking over his shoulder that his alchemy training would begin at dawn the next day. The boy had a feeling he and his master weren't going to be the best of friends.

Roy suddenly felt awkward, unsure of what to do with himself. He looked desperately at the girl, hoping to get some sort of indication of his next move. He didn't particularly want to stand in the entryway until morning.

The girl looked at him and sighed. "Your bedroom is upstairs, down the hallway from mine," she told him, motioning for him to follow her. Roy quickly snatched his luggage off the ground before she led him up the staircase, aiming for a long corridor to the left. She turned towards the first room on the left of the hall, extending an arm into the open doorway.

"Th-thanks," he stuttered, disappearing into the room and shutting the door.

* * *

Several hours later, the girl called him for dinner. He poked his head out of his bedroom nervously, practically tiptoeing his way downstairs. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, his head whipped around as he realized he had no idea where anything in the house was. His master's daughter hadn't exactly given him a tour of the place.

"In here," the girl's voice called. He turned to the right to see her waving at him. Grateful for her help, he strode towards her, trying to be inconspicuous about his peering around in search of Mr. Hawkeye.

"He's not here," she told him. Her sharp eyes hadn't missed his survey of the dining room. "Father never eats with me," the girl said simply, by way of explanation.

Roy didn't know what to say to that. His head ducked a little and he sat at the table, watching the girl serve him a bowl of soup. The entire scene struck him as very odd; she couldn't have been more than twelve, yet she seemed to be the one running the house. Even more odd was that she wasn't bouncing off the walls and chattering his ears off like he had been raised to believe girls were wont to do. No, she was the opposite of everything he'd ever known about the opposite sex: she was very thin, almost unhealthy – his foster mother and sisters were all sizable, busty women – and she was quiet and composed, in contrast to the loudmouthed girls he'd grown up with. Never having gone to formal school, Roy had been very limited in his knowledge and social experience. This girl was almost foreign to him.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Roy blushed, snapping out of his reverie. "Was I staring?"

"I wouldn't have asked if you weren't."

He could feel his face get darker. "Sorry… I just…" he cleared his throat. "What's your name? You never told me."

The blonde girl stared at him for a long moment. "My name is Riza," she finally answered, her eyes drifting away from his. She picked up her spoon and began taking small bites. "Riza Hawkeye. I'm your sensei's daughter."

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

Roy nearly choked. "What?" How… she was so _small!_

His shock must have registered on his face, for Riza frowned. "Go on, say it. Call me little. I know you're thinking it," she murmured. If Roy was reading her correctly, there was an infinitesimal amount of hurt in her expression. He bit his tongue; he hadn't meant to insult her.

"You're…" he trailed off, searching for a way to fix his mistake. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head; it made him blush. But his foot was already in his mouth, right? What could it hurt? Besides, it was true.

"You're pretty."

Riza's eyes widened, and her cheeks turned pink. Her eyes immediately fell back to her soup, avoiding the boy's gaze.

Roy might have been hearing things, but he could have sworn he heard her mutter under her breath that boys were crazy.


	10. Promises

**author's note**: in continuity with _Girls_ and _Protector._

* * *

Roy's head spun as Riza led him upstairs. She took him into her bedroom, the one room in the house he had never been in - had never been_ allowed_ in. His confusion deepened when she crossed the room to the window, drawing the curtains closed. He shut the door behind him out of habit.

"Your father kept his notes in your room?" he asked, bewildered. He'd thought his late sensei wouldn't have let them out of his study.

When Riza spoke, an edge of bitterness tainted her voice. "I suppose you could say that."

Roy opened his mouth to ask another question, but the thought flew out of his mind as Riza faced away from him, slipping her jacket off. Roy's mind went blank. She didn't stop there. Her white blouse followed, and Roy could tell she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. As the garment rode up her back, all Roy could comprehend was that most of her back was discolored. It took him a long moment to realize what he was staring at: an alchemical array, permanently marring her skin.

Roy wanted to vomit.

Several minutes passed before he found his voice. "_What the hell did that man do to you_?" he yelled.

Riza winced. Her shoulders shook, and Roy realized she was crying. He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. Before he knew what he was doing, his jacket was off and he was moving towards her. He wrapped his coat around the girl's shoulders, and she instinctively pulled it closer to her to cover her front. Roy rested a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Riza," he muttered. "I promised I wouldn't let him hurt you… look at you. To think the man could be so heartless to use you like this… _Dammit_, I should have been there, I should have stopped him-"

Riza shifted and turned her head towards him; a steady stream was pouring down her cheeks. "Don't blame yourself for this, Mr. Mustang," she ordered, no signs of her tears betrayed in her voice. "I don't want to watch you suffer over it too."

Roy took another deep breath to try to steady his trembling. "We don't have to do this right now. I can wait until you're ready."

Riza shook her head again. "I don't want to drag this out. Take your notes and be done with it."

He hesitated for a brief moment before giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze and taking his coat as she removed it and handed it back to him. "I'll be right back," he promised, hanging his overcoat on a coat rack mounted next to her door.

With leaden legs, Roy dragged himself across the hallway into his old bedroom, picking up the stationery set that he'd left and grabbing a stool off the floor. Returning to Riza's bedroom, he set the stool down on the ground behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders again as he sat her down. She complied wordlessly.

Instead of kneeling to inspect the marks on her back, Roy found that he was frozen where he stood, unable to bring himself to study her as though she were a notepad. His hands were shaking violently.

"I can't," he whispered.

Riza winced at that, turning around to look at him. Upon seeing his head turned away, his eyes screwed shut, tears threatening, she felt her own throat constrict. She'd managed to stop crying, but her face was still tearstained. "Maybe we should wait until _you're_ ready, Mr. Mustang," she said quietly.

He nodded, still not looking at her. She leaned over the stool, grabbing her blouse off the floor and slipping it over her head. Pulling her jacket on, she stood and crossed the two feet that separated herself and Mr. Mustang. "Are you all right?"

Roy's dark eyes snapped open and they bore into her. "You're the one whose father physically abused and scarred her, and you're asking _me_ if _I'm_ all right?" he nearly yelled. He tried deep breaths again; they were beginning to lose their effect. He was finding it harder and harder to calm down. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her. "Look at you," he finally muttered, his voice slightly softer.

Her eyes fell to the floor, away from him. "I know. I'm not exactly 'pretty' anymore, am I?" she whispered bitterly, referring to the day they'd met. Riza suddenly felt ruined; she knew no man would want her now. Even apart from the sexual ramifications of having her back defaced, who could love her? Not even her own father had given her that much. The array on her back was proof enough of that.

Riza jumped at the feeling of warms arms around her, pulling her against Mr. Mustang's chest. She stiffened in surprise.

"You're beautiful, Riza. No matter what that man did to you, you are still as beautiful as you were the day I first saw you," he told her earnestly. She refused to let tears touch her eyes again, though she was grateful for his words. Riza couldn't make herself thank him with words, but her gaze and expression were clear enough.

They held the others' gaze for a brief moment before Roy leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead. His arms began to withdraw from her as he pulled away, but on impulse, Riza grabbed his collar and held him there.

Later, she would guess that the reason was that she needed to feel something other than the pain and fear she'd lived in most of her life. Or maybe she just wanted some reassurance that she mattered to someone. But really, at the time, all she knew was that she wanted it.

"Kiss me like you mean it, Roy," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper.

He froze, his eyes darting to her lips and back to her eyes - the color of honeysuckle, the same dark shade they had been all those years ago. Slowly, he nodded, and her eyes fell shut.

His stomach flipped nervously, but somehow he managed to swallow his fear, leaning in to meet her lips with his own. Roy kissed her slowly, though he could tell she wanted more from him, even if she was young and didn't quite know it herself. He knew she was hurting, that she was trying to escape. He wanted to help - even if he didn't know her as well as he did, even if she didn't mean as much to him as even he could barely admit to himself, he would have wanted to help her; he'd known from an early age that that was the sort of person he was. But this was wrong; this was not the sort of comfort she needed. If he let it go any further, he'd be taking advantage of her.

Roy broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers, their noses brushing. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?" he asked quietly. "It's been a long day; you should rest."

Her hand clenched his collar again; this time for a different reason. "Don't leave," she pleaded, fear leaking into her tone.

"I'll be right across the hallway, Riza. I'm not going anywhere," he told her, his words sounding like a promise.

Roy was grimly reminded of the last one he'd made her - one he'd inadvertently broken. He closed his eyes, swearing never to break another promise to her again.

"I won't leave you."


	11. Flowery Words

Roy took a deep breath.

He'd had an entire speech planned out, memorized even, but it seemed that all his efforts were for naught now. His emotions roiled; the Flame Alchemist let his facade break, just this once, for her, by letting them show. There was no one around to see, anyway, and he knew she wasn't going to judge him for it.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye," he began, his voice faltering slightly, "I came here tonight to tell you something. You know I'm not one for flowery words, unless I'm drunk - which I'm not - but, considering the circumstances, I thought I'd make an exception."

Silence.

Roy cleared his throat; the flowers in his hands weighed down like lead. He gripped them tightly, struggling to remain somewhat composed. "We've been part of each other since childhood, and we know each other better than anyone else; I'd be shocked if you didn't understand my feelings for you at this point." Again, only silence followed his words, but he soldiered on. "But, since you seem hellbent on making me say it, I will."

Roy's eyes drifted shut in reminsicence - he could clearly remember the day he met her, her hair before she'd asked him to cut it, to make it harder for the bastard she called her father to grab her; how lovely she'd become by the time he left the manor, and his regrets in not asking for her hand before she made the decision to join the military; the way she held close the child whose mother had been hacked apart and left in the street, her motherly instincts surfacing from some long-forgotten corner of her personality, Roy finding it endlessly endearing; the way she'd faithfully had his back, coming through the fires of hell and back with him. They'd always been together. He couldn't remember what his life had been like before she was in it. Every memory, every aspect of himself was tied up with some sort of link to her. Somewhere along this barbed path, two had become one.

"I love you, Riza."

He was answered with a breeze, an owl hooting off in the distance. A clap of thunder was heard overhead, and not long after he found himself soaked, still waiting for his answer.

Roy laid the flowers down, resisting the urge to hurl the other bouquets as far as he could throw them. He set them in a vase, one he'd bought just for her, having remembered her claim that she didn't have one.

"You don't have an excuse now," he muttered, falling slowly to his knees, paying no mind to the sopping wet earth chilling his skin through his pant legs. "Please accept them this time, Lieutenant Colonel."

After what must have been a solid hour or so, Roy shakily came to his feet again, absentmindedly recognizing the fact that he'd most likely have to throw out the slacks he'd just ruined. But in the grand scheme of things, the state of his clothing was towards the bottom of his list of concerns.

Roy trudged out of the graveyard in utter silence, briefly wondering if he'd ever find his tongue again.


	12. Soft Spot

It was raining, and it was a welcome change. They'd been in the desert too long. Even the Flame Alchemist, who couldn't defend himself in the downpour without a gun, could appreciate the droplets rolling down his exposed skin.

Roy had asked Riza to take a walk with him nearly the moment they'd been assigned to Eastern together. After her oath to follow him into hell, he felt there was something that needed to be addressed.

He hadn't taken an umbrella with him, having guessed at the forecast and wanting to feel the rain wash the last remaining grains of sand from his skin. He regretted not bringing one now, for Riza's sake, but for all the world she did not complain. She merely walked on the outside of the cement path, lingering slightly under the cover of the trees they passed in the park.

"If I may ask, sir, what prompted this? And why couldn't it wait?" she asked him, the tip of her nose turning red from the cold.

Instead of directly answering her question, he asked, "How long have we known each other, Cadet?"

Riza blinked. Quickly, she did the math. They'd met when she was fourteen, and he sixteen; she was now twenty, he twenty-two. "I believe it's been about six years, sir."

"And after six years, would you consider us friends?"

Were she anyone else - were she at any other point in her life - she would have laughed. But the weight of hell still sat upon her shoulders, still lingered in the shadows of her eyes. She hadn't heard herself laugh since before her father died; she wasn't sure she could remember what the action even felt like. "Sir… after everything we've been through together, and what I'm sure we have yet to go through together, I don't think I could consider you anything less than my best friend."

It almost made him smile to hear it, but he carried the same world-weariness that plagued his blonde Cadet; he, too, found it impossible to even bring his lips upturned. "Best friend…" he repeated, his voice distant. Hughes was his best friend. Riza… Riza was something else, something _more._

Riza opened her mouth to say something, but stopped as a hiss escaped her chattering teeth. Instantly a look of frustration overcame her features, as though she were angry with herself for betraying even a small weakness such as her chill.

Roy immediately felt guilty; he stopped and took his jacket off, stepping forward and wrapping it around her shoulders. "I'm sorry; this was a bad idea. I should've been more patient with the weather," he muttered. Taking her lightly by the shoulders, he steered her around, heading back the way they'd come.

"Why did you ask me that, Major?" Riza asked after a minute, reminding Roy of the conversation he'd started; one that, invariably, he'd have to finish.

Roy sighed. "Well," he began, "if I'm going to be honest… I've got a bit of a soft spot for you."

Three years ago, these words would have been stuttered, accompanied with blushes and giggles and everything else that accompanied a confession of feelings that ran deeper than friendship. Now, he said it simply, directly. He didn't have it in him to play games, and he knew without asking that she didn't have it in her to put up with it.

Riza nearly choked. "Sir…"

She looked up at him, and he returned her gaze, letting all defenses down. She could read him plainly. She could see how much he anticipated her response.

She had to stall. She needed half a second to think. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, sir?" she asked. The Cadet knew damn well what he was telling her, and she was fairly sure he knew that, but she asked it all the same.

_Well, I don't know. What **do** you think I'm saying?_

Riza could almost hear it. His snarky, cocky response. What he would have said if they'd had this conversation, before. Before Ishval. Before the military academy. Before Heathcliff, and Rebecca, and Riza's tattoo, and blood, and death, and sand.

But he'd lost something there. Whatever was left was genuine. He'd gone through the fires of hell and had come out with his heart and eyes set on a clear goal; his entire self was put into it. The boy Riza once met was gone; he was a man now. A weary man, a guilty man, but a man all the same.

And so when he finally answered her, all he said was, "Yes."

Riza's eyes widened slightly, and she turned away, having made up her mind.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered. "I don't return your feelings."

She heard the intake of breath, as much as she wished she didn't. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Some brave soldier she was.

"I…" he started, though he found himself unable to finish. He hadn't really expected it, if he was honest with himself. He'd thought for sure there was something between them…

"I"m sorry," Riza repeated. "You _are_ my best friend. I love you as a brother, sir. We did spend some time growing up together, after all."

Roy nodded dumbly, shocked by the stab of pain in his chest. "I suppose," he whispered, casting his eyes away from her. He cleared his throat, slightly too loudly. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything.

Riza looked away and bobbed her head in some sort of motion of acquiescence, wishing she could pretend the moisture in her eyes was merely raindrops.

Many a time in Ishval had she been commended for her bravery, and her female comrades had always openly admired her strength. Riza had always brushed it off; she couldn't afford to be weak, and that was that. But as she handed Roy's jacket back to him, catching a glimpse of the raw hurt on his face as she did so, she wished she was weak enough to tell him the truth.


	13. Goodbye

author's note: in continuity with _Girls, Protector _and _Promises_.

* * *

Roy chews on his lip, nervous. He's sure Riza can feel the anxiety rolling off of him in waves, but there's not much he can do about that. There's something he's been meaning to talk to her about, because their discussion at her father's grave didn't quite suffice, and after the kiss they shared the night she showed him her back - which they haven't mentioned since - he's afraid to leave things the way they are.

Riza, completely unaware of Roy's hypertension, is wrapped up in her own thoughts. She's worried that, despite his assurances otherwise, he'll be called off to war. She's heard more than she lets on. She knows how dangerous it is out there. She's heard the numbers, she knows the casualty rate. She's not ready for him to leave, knowing there's a chance he won't come back.

All too soon, they hear the train whistle as it rolls into the station. Roy checks his ticket despite the fact that he knows full well that this is the one he's waiting for. He stands slowly, his knees shaking slightly. He turns to the blond girl rising to her feet beside him. Everything he wanted to say will go to waste if he doesn't spit it out now.

"I guess this is it," she murmurs, her large doe eyes fixed on the people filing out of the train.

Roy nods lamely. "Yeah." He pauses, then sucks in a shaky breath, turning to face her full-on. "I'll come back for you."

Riza blinks, her face blank. "What?"

Her response winds him up even tighter. "I promised your father I'd look after you. So I'll come back for you, if you'll wait for me," he says, his face overheating. When she doesn't respond right away, he lets out an almost exasperated sigh. "Look I just really care about you a lot and when I come home I'll take care of you well I mean I will if you want me to because if you don't that's fine but I want to make sure you'll be all right because I know you don't have anyone and the truth is I don't really have anyone else either," he splutters, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he can process. He's sure his face is twenty different shades of red, but that's not as important as the look on Riza's face.

She nearly facepalms._ He can be such an idiot sometimes,_ she muses._ He can barely form a sentence; how does he expect to survive the military academy? How does he expect to survive Ishval if he gets sent to war? He's going to walk straight into the first booby trap he can find._

"You're completely useless, you know that?" she mutters, shaking her head.

Suddenly it dawns on her. Ever since her father died, she's been on edge, unsure of what to do with her life from here. But in that moment, it hits her like a ton of bricks.

Why not join the military? Why not make sure he doesn't get himself killed? Why not make sure he doesn't abuse the power she's handed to him?

It takes a minute to digest, to let the epiphany sink in. She decides to keep it to herself for now, but she smiles up at him in reassurance.

"You don't need to worry, Roy," she hedges, savoring the taste of his first name - something she'd never been accustomed to using. "You'll always have me."

Riza looks him in the eye, and she can't lie to herself; she wants to kiss him goodbye. But she restrains herself, because no matter how much she might worry about him, this is _not_ goodbye. She won't let it be.

He's still watching her, a stupid, silly grin worming its way across his face. Riza reaches up to grab his shoulders, spinning him towards the train, making its last call for passengers. He barely manages to grab his luggage before she lightly shoves him forward.

"You're going to be late, Roy."

He turns to look at her one last time, giving her a soft smile and waving silently.

She returns the gesture, her own lips twitching upwards as well.

_This isn't goodbye, but I **am** going to miss you._


	14. Drowning

"You know, I'm a little upset by the names you called me earlier, Lieutenant," Roy announces.

Everyone in the office has already packed up and left for the night - Mustang and Hawkeye are the only ones left, finishing up the last few forms on their desks that they hadn't had a chance to do earlier, having been on the field tracking Scar down.

Hawkeye's mouth pulls into a small smirk. "As I recall, it was only one name, Sir," she remarks, knowing full well what he's referring to. She called him useless. "And with all due respect, there's no use in being upset. You know as well as I do that it's true."

He's pouting now. "Only when it's pouring rain."

She has to laugh at that. "Do you remember the first time we learned about your inability to deal with water?" she asks. She has a slightly sentimental tone in her voice, though she justifies it by reminding herself that the Colonel nearly had his brains scattered across the city streets today; she would allow herself to acknowledge their close bond for once.

He gives a low chuckle. "How could I forget? It was the first time you ever saved my life." Roy had been seventeen then, she fifteen. It was the summer before he'd left for the military academy.

She'd laughed quietly to herself as he'd dragged her. The look on his face when he'd told him about the river had been that of a child on Christmas morning; he hadn't waited two seconds before asking her to show him the way. Even though he didn't quite know where he was going, he was the one leading her while she pointed him forward every time he slowed. She'd never seen him so excited about anything before. Suddenly she was grateful her father had finally given him an afternoon away from his studies.

They reached the clearing, and Roy almost immediately stripped his shirt off. Riza had had to remind him to grab swim trunks before they left, otherwise he'd have had to swim in his underwear.

Not that Riza would ever admit it, but the thought of Roy in only his underwear had made her face heat up.

She too began removing her outer clothes, a nice, modest swimsuit revealed underneath. This had been before the tattoo, so she had had no qualms over exposing her back.

Riza took a few hesitant steps toward the shore, testing the water with a solitary toe. It was only May, not quite far enough into the year for swimming, and her suspicions were proven correct - the water is too cold for her.

Roy, on the other hand, had wasted no time in gauging the temperature of the stream. Riza could see him climbing the rocks to get to a better spot; she assumed he meant to jump. She barely had time to shout at him to be careful before he proved her right, running and flinging himself into empty space, legs tucking in under his arms, an ecstatic whoop echoing through the air. Her eyes followed his body as it broke the water, a rather large splash slamming the rock and glimmering under the rays of the bright sun. Riza smiled at the ripples he'd created, subconsciously expecting to see his dark hair pop up above the water within a few moments.

As she continued to stare, he didn't surface, and her gaze began to search the water, thinking perhaps he'd chosen to swim around, and that he'd come up a little further away from the spot he'd landed.

A few more moments passed and Riza panicked. How good was he at swimming? How long could he hold his breath? Had something happened to him?

Before it even crossed her mind to do so, she heard herself yell his name, once, twice, a third time. Nothing.

Without a second thought she was in the water, not even noticing the cold that had bothered her minutes beforehand, running and then swimming towards him. The current wasn't overpowering, but it was still somewhat of a force to be reckoned with, and it was pulling against the direction in which she was swimming.

Riza ducked her head underwater, forcing her eyes open despite the resulting discomfort. She had to whip her head around for an agonizing few seconds before she caught sight of him, floating past her with the pull of the current. As far as she could tell, he was unconscious. Riza pushed herself back up to the surface to catch one last large breath before diving in, propelling herself as fast as she possibly could towards his body.

When she reached him, she encircled an arm around his back, pulling him against her so she could carry him upwards. As they emerged, Riza flipped her bangs out of her eyes and sucked in a breath, her inexperienced lungs ready to burst from having exerted so much energy with no oxygen.

She heaved him back to the shore, laying him down worriedly, noticing he wasn't breathing. Scared, she fisted her hair in her hands, trying desperately to remember what she was supposed to do. She'd read it in a book once, a long time ago…

A voice pulls her back to the present. "You figured it out," the Colonel reminds her, watching her face contort as she recalled how terrified she had been. "Although I don't think that giving me mouth-to-mouth was strictly necessary," he teases.

Riza raises an eyebrow at him. "Despite what you may think, Colonel, that was the furthest thing from my mind at the time. I'd never been in a life-or-death situation before. I was scared." She leans over her desk to place her finished stack in the designated tray.

Roy chuckles again. "I know, Lieutenant. I'm only giving you a hard time."

She shoots him a look. "That's a good idea, Sir. Keep giving the woman who saves your ass on a weekly basis a hard time. See how far you get," she tells him. She reaches for her jacket, preparing to leave.

He's at her side before she can blink. "I'm sorry, Hawkeye," he apologizes, retrieving her jacket before she can lay a hand on it. He holds it out to her, a genuinely apologetic look on his face. She sighs, stepping closer and sliding her arms into the sleeves.

"Will you let me walk you home?" Roy asks.

"I live further away than you do, sir," she replies , though her tone implies that she won't fight with him about it.

He simply smiles at her, hooking his arm through hers and leading her out. Like an extra fifteen minutes of walking is going to stop him.


	15. Failed

It was entirely her fault. Nothing anyone could have said would change her mind on that fact, for fact it was. Riza had failed, and she was staring at the direct consequences of her failure. She knew no one would have wanted her to place the blame on herself, but she damn well did it anyway.

"Lieutenant Colonel, look at me."

Riza refused, her hollow eyes fixated on the ground. She couldn't bring herself face him. Not even now, when she had nothing left to lose.

"Riza Emily Hawkeye, **look at me**."

She knew that tone. That was his _superior officer_ tone, his _obey me_ tone. With a great amount of trepidation, she cast her eyes up to his face. "What do you want, General?" she asked sharply, hating the way he implied his power even now, when it was a moot point, an obscure concept.

"I want you to stop with your pity party, Lieutenant Colonel," he said sternly, the same tone in his voice as the day he'd scolded her for giving up for the sake of the belief that he was dead. "This was _not_ your fault. How could it have been?"

"I never said I blamed myself, sir."

"You didn't have to," he fired back.

Hawkeye stared at him then, barely able to weather the way his eyes pierced her. Softening slightly, he took a step closer to her.

"I understand how you feel, Hawkeye. It's the same way I felt when-" he broke off abruptly, his eyes falling to the ground. They both knew very well what he had been about to say. "I blamed myself," Roy started again. "I let the guilt eat at me until I thought there was nothing left. I don't want you to ever have to go through that."

Riza nodded halfheartedly, knowing it would take more than that to rid her of her feelings.

He continued in a soft voice, "I used to visit you all the time, you know. I'd talk to you a lot, partly because no one else would listen. It made me feel better," he admitted. "I know it sounds… silly… but I always felt like you were there with me."

Riza had to smile a little at that. "I was, sir. I always listened when you visited me," she murmured.

She remembered one night in particular when he had come to her, a bouquet of flowers in his grip, a speech on his tongue that he had intended her to hear _before_. She'd stood over him, a hand resting on his head, trying to offer him comfort despite the fact that she knew full well it was useless.

Well, maybe not entirely useless. It seemed as though her presence may have helped him after all, even if only a little.

Yet another smile graced Riza's lips as she recalled the words he'd spoken to her on that night, and she stood, crossing the distance between the two of them and taking his hands in hers.

"Sir, you're going to have to let me work through my grief in my own way. I failed to keep you safe despite the oath I took. I was always ready to do whatever it took to protect you-"

"And you _did_," he snapped, pulling his hands away angrily. "We both paid the price for that."

She ignored him and pressed forward, determined. "In the end it didn't matter, though, did it? You're standing right in front of me. All it took was that one time, the one time I wasn't there to protect you…" she said, carefully adding, "to protect the man I love."

Roy's eyes widened, and suddenly he gave her a sad smile, linking their hands again. "You heard me, huh?" he asked quietly, knowing she'd meant it as an answer to something he'd told her a very long time ago.

Gently squeezing his hands, she chuckled, "I'm fairly certain I just told you that" Her voice took on a more serious tone as she continued, "I was always with you, Roy. You knew that. I know you beat yourself up more than you should. And I know how you feel about me doing the same. You just need to trust me, all right?" she asked.

Roy sighed, his head bowing slightly. In place of an answer, he pulled her into his arms, breathing her in. "It's so good to see you again, Hawkeye," he whispered. He was doing this all out of order, and he didn't care. "Even if it's like this."

Riza returned his embrace wordlessly, savoring the moment.

After all, it wasn't every day you were reunited with the ghost of someone you loved.

* * *

**author's note:** in continuity with _Flowery Words_.


	16. Selfless

Riza hadn't realized she was in love with Roy until she saw him on top of Havoc.

They'd been out of Ishval for nearly a year when it happened. Jean Havoc had been the first of the recruits to the Lieutenant Colonel's team - with the exception of Riza - and had only been with them for three months. He was all right, his biggest flaw being only that he smoked like a house fire, and that included doing so in the office despite both Riza's and Roy's requests that he not blacken both their lungs. He wasn't terribly intelligent, either, but Riza could forgive him for that. He made up for it in personality. He was always laughing at something, and the change he'd made in the atmosphere of the office was not unwelcome.

Well, at least, it wasn't unwelcome to Riza. Mustang, on the other hand, seemed to feel a little grated by the man's presence. She wasn't quite sure why - rivalry, perhaps? - but as long as he didn't start behaving immaturely about it, she had decided she would leave it alone. She wasn't the Lieutenant Colonel's mother, after all.

Even though some days, she sure as hell felt like she was.

"Lieutenant Colonel, sir," she began quietly, ten minutes before it happened. "May I please remind you that you cannot go charging into civilians' homes and throw your weight around like this? No one will ever trust the military if they feel overpowered by its soldiers."

She had approached him the moment the man they were interviewing had left to grab his papers; they lingered in his living room, practically whispering. Havoc stood on the other side of their superior, staring off into space with a rather bored expression on his face. Riza couldn't help but wish he would take this a bit more seriously. They were looking into a case of a supposedly mentally ill man who had killed several people in the vicinity over the past week, and they believed they had a solid lead from this man, Edmund Morris. His wife had been among the first of the victims in this recent string of murders.

Roy sighed, snapping Riza out of her reverie. "I don't have time to shake hands and drink tea, Lieutenant. People are dying. I don't want this case to drag on any longer than it has to; I want the culprit found and locked up before anyone else gets hurt."

"I understand that, sir, but making demands and playing bad cop to achieve your ends still isn't necessary. You could have been just a bit less intimidating," she murmured.

Whatever rebuttal Roy may have offered was lost as Morris reentered the room. Riza reacted a split second too late, realizing far too slowly what the shiny metal object in his hand was.

In the blink of an eye, Morris had raised his revolver, aiming for the nearest target - which happened to be Havoc, still daydreaming.

Roy caught it a moment before Riza did, half an instant before the gunshot rang through the house. He let out a strangled yell as he tackled Havoc, an arm reaching out behind him to grab onto his other blonde Lieutenant as he did so. Riza distantly heard a second scream as her head hit the ground.

Fortunately, her reflexes finally kicked in. One of her pistols had found itself in her left hand before her brain had processed the command for it to do so; without the slightest hesitation she raised the firearm and squeezed the trigger repeatedly, firing until the man was on the ground. His own weapon had fallen beside him.

Sparing half a glance to make sure he wasn't getting back up, Hawkeye nearly threw her weight into an upright position. Her eyes worriedly scanned the Lieutenant Colonel. To her alarm, he was bleeding and semi-conscious on top of Havoc, who was trying to wrestle himself out from underneath him. Quickly, Hawkeye snapped herself out of it and grabbed the dark-haired man by the arm, pulling his body against hers. His head landed against her collarbone.

As Havoc righted himself, Riza barked at him. "Cadet! Help me remove the Lieutenant Colonel's jacket!" she ordered. "I need you to inspect the wound."

The man threw a hasty salute to his forehead before helping her with the buttons on the front of their commanding officer's uniform, ripping it off of him with no amount of care. Havoc pushed his dress shirt and undershirt up, revealing a bullet lodged deeply into his shoulder blade. Roy groaned.

Almost unconsciously, Riza ran a hand through his hair, trying to give him comfort. "Stay awake, sir, don't you **dare** fall asleep. Do you hear me?" she demanded, fear seeping into her tone. Without waiting for any sort of confirmation, her eyes pierced Havoc once more. "How's the damage?"

He shook his head, trembling. "It's bad…" he whispered. "Whatever Morris was shooting was heavy."

The Second Lieutenant fought the wave of panic that threatened her, focusing solely on helping Mustang. "Use his jacket to wrap it as tightly as you can, then find a phone. We need to get him to a hospital."

Havoc did as he was told, tripping over his own feet to get up and search the house. Riza found herself rocking Roy as she waited, keeping him upright to maintain the higher elevation of his wound in relation to his heart, wanting to minimize the bloodflow as much as possible.

"Sir, can you hear my voice?" she asked, staving off the desperation in her tone. "Sir, please, _please_ say something…"

The only reply he could muster was a delayed, quiet grunt.

Hawkeye's eyes slammed shut, refusing to let the threatening tears spill over. "Hang on… Roy. Havoc's calling for help. Just hang on."

Havoc stayed to deal with the military backup that had come with the ambulance to handle the issue of Morris' body, which was pronounced dead by one of the EMT's. It hadn't been said out loud yet, but the general consensus seemed to be that he had, in fact, been the man behind the recent killings.

Riza, on the other hand, rode with the blacked-out Lieutenant Colonel, insisting that it was her job as his bodyguard not to leave his side. She stared at him as the vehicle swerved and jerked, rushing them to the emergency room. The woman studied his face, a slightly pained expression resting on it even in his unconsciousness.

"You idiot," she whispered. "We're your subordinates. _We're_ supposed to take the fall for _you_, not the other way around." Riza bit her lip to restrain the small cry that threatened to break loose. "Don't you get it, sir?" she murmured when she was sure she was not going to cry.

But she knew him better than that. She knew he never once valued his own life above anyone else's, knew that his heart was much bigger than he let on. Havoc - he barely knew the guy, didn't even seem to **like** him, yet he'd thrown himself over him to protect him without a second thought. Roy was selfless.

_That's why I love him._

The thought seemed to come from nowhere, yet despite how much it shocked and even scared her, the longer the Lieutenant sat replaying it in her mind, the more she realized what an idiot she had been all this time for not knowing it sooner.

For in fact, it had been true for a very long time.


	17. First Kisses

Riza turned her head to the side as her superior chuckled quietly to himself. His eyes were trained on two blonde heads under a tree not far off; they were both bright red and looking away from each other, though their hands appeared to be entwined.

"What's funny, sir?" she asked.

Roy met her gaze for a moment before continuing to openly stare at Edward and Winry. Ed caught him looking and glared; Roy simply grinned and waved, laughing again.

"Fullmetal can be surprisingly entertaining around his _not_ girlfriend," he finally responded, shifting his weight slightly where he sat on the porch. The two had come to Resembool for an investigation; while they were in town, the boys (mostly Alphonse) had invited them to visit. They agreed with only minor reservations on Roy's part.

Riza sighed. "Sir, there are better things to do than sit around and make Edward uncomfortable," she chided.

"It's our day off," he reminded her. "I can't have a little fun?"

Crossing her arms, she tried, "At least spare them for Winry's sake, sir. If the girl catches you watching them she'll be mortified."

He turned to look at her again, but right as he did so, Edward leaned forward and caught Winry's mouth in a kiss; if her face had been pink before, it was up in flames now. Both officers saw it, though Riza immediately looked away to preserve some semblance of privacy. Roy tore his eyes away a few moments after she did.

"Would it kill you to at least act like you're ashamed of yourself?" she muttered, exasperated. The grin on his face had grown even wider. "I don't understand what you're doing out here in the first place."

Instead of answering her, he surprised her by switching tracks. "Do you remember our first kiss, Hawkeye?"

She only missed half a beat before rolling her eyes. "You have yet to convince me it was an accident, sir."

"And you have yet to convince _me_ that you didn't enjoy it," he retorted, still smirking. It had been a few days after he had rid her of the most telling areas of her tattoo; they'd waited until they got back to Central, and every day after it happened she visited him at his apartment. She couldn't risk going to a doctor to check up on it as it healed, so Roy was allotted that job. He hadn't minded, though; he told her it was the least he could do.

She had been getting dressed again while Roy went into the kitchen to toss her old bandages into the trash. When he came back, Riza had felt emboldened, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning up to kiss his cheek in gratitude. He'd turned his head to try to process what she was doing, and in doing so, he'd accidentally pressed his lips to hers. Her amber eyes flew open and almost immediately pulled back, her face red and her hand covering her mouth, stuttering apologies.

Once they'd both gotten past embarrassment, he'd teased her endlessly about the fact that she'd hesitated before breaking the kiss.

"I was shocked, sir; it took my brain a few seconds to catch up enough to react," she insisted, though she felt her face warm up a little at the memory. She _had_ enjoyed it, but only in hindsight.

His infuriating grin showed no signs of leaving his face. "That's what you keep telling me, Captain, but I don't buy it."

Riza sighed, realizing this wasn't an argument she was going to win. "I think you have more important things to worry about, sir," she murmured as something over his shoulder caught her eye.

Roy's smile faltered. "Such as?"

"Such as the fact that Edward is marching towards us, and, from the looks of it, is about ten seconds from kicking your ass into next week."


	18. Plans

Their plans were ruined.

She'd known better than to get her hopes up – she always knew better, that's what she did for a living – yet somehow the disappointment was terribly difficult to squash.

Roy, for one, seemed to have yet to even notice.

They'd planned to have dinner together tonight at his place; he'd promised to cook for her, though she had to remind him he would most likely need supervision in the kitchen anyway. They couldn't go out, it went without saying. No matter how much they might act as though such an outing was professional and platonic, the date would escape no one's notice, and while a few whispers were not likely to get them penalized, it was an unnecessary annoyance that they could both do without.

Their orders had come in at lunch. Tomorrow the Colonel and whatever staff he so chose to accompany him under his command were being shipped out to Sadav, a small town on the border of the remains of Ishval. It was a crime-infested area, and Mustang was being sent to deal with a vigilante problem. Riza had been first on his list to aid him, an automatic at this point. He'd also opted to take Havoc and Falman.

Riza wasn't adverse to the assignment; she didn't tend to have opinions one way or another. If a mission could advance Mustang further up the military ladder, she was the first in line to favor it. However, being on such short notice, she and the Colonel were going to be stuck all night in the office reviewing their orders and committing them to memory, as well as signing their souls away on mountains of forms and handing them back in. They'd be eating cafeteria food at their desks tonight as they worked. And once that was done, they would need the rest of the night to pack and get what sleep they could before their train left at seven the next morning.

_It doesn't even seem to bother him that we'll be missing our date tonight_, Riza thought bleakly as she trailed down the hallway after her bathroom break. When she reached the door, it creaked slightly under the weight of her hand as pushed it open, and her eyes fell on a sight that made her want to hit something.

"Sir, you have hours of work to be done by tonight, and you choose to waste time tinkering with Fuery's radio?" she demanded, her voice elevated. "Since when did you even develop an interest?"

Roy sighed, standing up. "Fuery was just showing me something, Hawkeye. Sorry," he muttered. "I take it my break is over…"

"I don't understand why you thought you had time for a break, Lieutenant Colonel," she replied angrily. "This is not something that can be put off until tomorrow. We need to get this done _now_." She grabbed him harshly by the elbow, tugging him back into his private office, slamming the door behind them. She let him go and gave him a slight shove towards his desk.

They were silent for the rest of the night; Roy, for once, seemed to be making solid progress on his work. She had taken some of his stack wordlessly when she'd finished her own – being in command, he tended to have more to fill out than his subordinates on any given day on any given mission or debriefing. Most of the extra work usually fell to her, though most of the time she didn't voice any complaints.

It was getting late, around ten thirty, when she stood up, stretching and rubbing her right hand a little. Riza set her pen back in its cup, scooting her chair into the desk. "I'm going to get a drink of water, Lieutenant Colonel," she announced, her voice breaking the silence for the first time in over three hours. "When I get back I'm packing up my things and leaving for the night." When his only response was to spare her a brief glance and nod, Riza gave an almost inaudible huff and left the room.

Bitter thoughts plagued her as she went for the water cooler. Did he really not care that their evening had been spoiled? Had he simply forgotten? And when she'd come back from lunch, who had he been laughing with on the phone? Her eyes closed as she remembered him nearly throwing the phone back on the receiver as she entered the room, an almost too-innocent look on his face as her eyes narrowed at him.

Brushing her bangs from her eyes, she straightened her shoulders and shook her head. It wasn't important. Their personal lives came second at all times, especially while they were still at work. She should be glad that she'd finished her paperwork as well as her share of Mustang's, and that he seemed close to finishing his own. She should be focused on reiterating her orders for the next few days in her head. She should be thinking about getting home safely to Black Hayate. She should not be sulking over her ruined date with her superior officer.

Still, she refused to look at him when she returned to the office. She just wanted to grab her coat and leave. But when her eyes landed on her desk, she froze mid-stride.

Sitting on the polished mahogany was a large glass vase, overflowing with lilies and tulips, her favorite flowers. A large bow had been wrapped around the vase and a small white piece of paper was nestled in the bouquet.

Riza's eyes lifted to Roy, a small, disbelieving smile on her face. He grinned back at her; not his self-satisfied smirk, but a real, genuine smile, something she had once believed to be extinct. After a few moments her brain kicked back into gear and she crossed the room to her desk, taking the slip of paper out of the arrangement and reading it to herself. It was simple:

_For the love of my life, my only flame._

_-R_

Somehow, in the few moments it had taken her to read the scrawling handwriting, the man who'd written it had left his desk and snuck up behind her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

"You're a sentimental idiot, Roy," Riza whispered, making no attempt to hide the smile in her voice. She felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled lowly.

"Do you like them?"

She turned around in his arms. Riza stretched up to kiss his cheek, realizing all formalities were tossed out the window despite the fact that they were at work. "Of course I do, sir," she murmured.

He smiled softly at her again. "I'm sorry if they look a little wilted- I've been hiding them under my desk since they were delivered, which was when you left for the bathroom a few hours ago," he told her. "It was a last-minute thing; I'm sorry I couldn't take you home tonight."

Suddenly she realized something. "When you were on the phone at lunch-"

He nodded, knowing where she was going with her statement. "Ordering these. I had meant to keep it a surprise; that's why I jumped when you came in."

Riza laughed a little at that, wondering how she could have even imagined the possibilities she had entertained.

Roy squeezed her shoulders gently. "Stay here for a minute."

She nodded, watching him as he left the office for a few seconds, toting a large hunk of metal with him as he reentered the room. She noticed with a small bit of confusion that he locked the door behind him and turned off most of the lights.. He set down the metal contraption on his desk, fumbling with something on the ground and letting out at _oof_ as he hit his head on a drawer.

"Everything okay over there?" Riza called.

A mass of black hair popped up over the edge of the desk, and a hand shot up to give her a thumbs-up. She chuckled, waiting patiently for him to figure it out.

Finally he stood, brushing himself off a little. He pushed a button on what Riza had deduced to be Fuery's radio, and after flicking the dial a few times, a slow tune emitted from the speaker, and Roy turned it up a little. She realized that this had also been part of his plan, and why he had been messing around with Fuery earlier that night. A small chuckle escaped her at the thought. Walking around the edge of his desk, Roy pulled off his gloves and tossed them behind him before extending a hand towards her.

"Would you like to dance?"

She smiled and wordlessly nodded, crossing the room and taking his hand. He pulled her close against his warm body, wrapping his other arm around her waist. They swayed slowly together, and Riza's head tucked itself under his chin, resting against his chest.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered after a few minutes of blissful quiet, the only sounds coming from the box by the window and from the strong, steady beat of his heart against her ear.

"You're welcome," he said simply, moving one hand to tilt her head up, pressing his mouth to hers softly. "Happy birthday, sweetheart," Roy murmured against her lips. "And happy Valentine's Day."


	19. Undeserving

The look on Roy's face was one closer to shock than anything else. After all, they'd been assured numerous times that it wasn't even in the realm of possibility.

The paperwork in Riza's hands, however, said otherwise.

"Sir, do you understand what I've told you?" Riza asked carefully, her gaze scrutinizing. She laid a hand on his shoulder as she waited for a response.

"You're… what?" he asked dumbly.

Sighing, Riza took hold of his hand with her free one, placing it against her abdomen. "Sir," she said gently, "I'm carrying your child."

"But… but_ how_?"

The Lieutenant had to resist rolling her eyes. She had been nearly as shocked as he was, after all. This was something they'd never planned for. "You know how children are conceived, sir, and in my experience you are rather fond of the process," she added, a small smirk on her lips. "As for how I'm able to conceive when I've known for years that I was infertile… I don't know, to be honest with you." She paused, her hand falling away from his. "If you don't want this, sir, I wouldn't worry. With the stress of work and the fact that I have a weak reproductive system, the chances that I'll be able to bring this child to full term are slim. And if I do, I'll tell no one it's yours. I suppose we'll just have to hope that the resemblance between you and the child aren't strong enough to make that fact obvious… I could even put it up for adoption if you'd like."

Her words seemed to break whatever spell he was under. Roy's eyes widened. "Lieutenant… I… you think I don't want her? Or… him?"

"I know you've never given it thought, sir. I know your goals are your main focus in life. I know you need to stay focused, for both our sakes."

Roy's hands took hers and held them tightly between their bodies, seemingly oblivious to the cold, hard reality she was trying to drop on him. "Of course I want it, Riza," he whispered. "Don't you?"

Riza blinked at that. She hadn't even considered whether or not she would want to be a mother. Her every thought since the tests had come back positive had been concerned with Roy's career and the inevitable secrecy this would entail.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "It might sound fun at first, a newborn baby, but there's a lot more to it than that, sir. Daycare, bottles, school, potty training… more than you or I know how to do. And even besides that… do we_ deserve_ that? Do we deserve to have a family?" Riza whispered, her eyes meeting his.

Instead of answering her right away, Roy leaned down to press his lips to hers, snaking an arm around her waist and deepening the kiss. Her arms found themselves settled comfortably around his shoulders, her eyes closing as she kissed back. When they drew away, not quite out of air yet, Roy kissed her cheek, mouth lingering by her ear. "I want you to be happy," he told her. "If you don't want to raise our child, we don't have to keep it. If my opinion counts for anything, though, I don't want him or her to grow up the way I did. I would like our child to have a family. Don't you think he or she deserves to be happy, even if we don't?"

"I suppose that makes sense," she whispered, holding him tighter. "But sir, our jobs…"

Roy kissed her again. "We'll figure that out later," he muttered against her lips. "Just know that no matter what, I'm not leaving your side. You won't go through this alone," he promised.

Riza nodded, grateful for that. Still, she was already two and a half months along. It was a very real concern. "If you lose your job-"

He cut her off. "Do you trust me, Lieutenant?"

After a moment, she nodded, leaning her forehead against his. "Of course I do, sir."


	20. Carry Me

"Is it over?"

Riza opened her eyes at her superior's question, surveying the scene around them.

Father was defeated, of that there was no doubt. The only homunculus who remained was Pride, reduced to the size and mental capacity of a human fetus. The Elrics were at peace amongst themselves, and everyone they cared about remained in one piece.

With a small smile, the hand that Roy had inconspicuously grasped squeezed back gently. "Yes, sir, it's over," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

"About time," he muttered gruffly.

The Lieutenant gave a slight nod before a wave of dizziness swept through her; without meaning to, her head fell against Roy's shoulder, her eyes clenched shut as she tried to get a hold of herself.

"Lieutenant?" Roy asked, shifting to put an arm around her for support. "Lieutenant, what's wrong?"

Riza shook her head. "N-nothing, sir, just a headrush." She meant for the words to be soothing, but they came out as little more than a whisper in her burning throat.

"This isn't nothing, Hawkeye, you're about to faint," was his rebuttal. He leaned over to pick her up, and when she swatted him away with a halfhearted protest, he murmured, "Let me carry you to the hospital, please. You can barely walk on your own. You can still see for me, but let me take care of you."

"Sir, I'm fine. Really."

Leaning in a little closer, he told her, "You've carried me for ten years, Lieutenant. Let me return the favor just this once," Roy nearly begged.

With a relenting sigh, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and allowed his bloodied hands to scoop her up and hold her against him. How could she say no to that?


	21. Stakeout

"Are you _serious_?"

Riza, the long-suffering assistant - slash - bodyguard, sighed. "Yes sir, I am."

"This is such a joke!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up and ignoring the pain that shot through his back. "What, did they run out of junior officers who were free for the weekend?"

"Sir, please calm down. With your injury still healing, I would be grateful that they're going easy on you if I were you. Besides, not every assignment can be a life-threatening, explosion-filled escapade. It might do you good to take it slow for a little while."

Roy groaned. "Still, a _stakeout_? For a petty thief? What is this?"

"This is your assignment,_ sir_, whether you like it or not," Riza fired back, not in the mood to listen to him whine. "So I suggest you suck it up and do as you're told."

Mustang gaped at her as she dropped the stack of papers in her arms onto his desk, leaving the office without so much as another glance.

* * *

She was at his door at eight that Friday night, swathed in black with a cap over her growing blonde hair. He was dressed to match, though his expression was noticeably more put out than his Second Lieutenant's. If she noticed, she didn't comment.

The neighborhood in question was not far from the street Hawkeye lived on, though it was much sketchier. Riza had two extra guns on her, and though she handed one to her superior, the look on her face betrayed her doubt that he'd be able to handle it. It was mostly for security - better to have something in his hand than have to hide behind his subordinate, should it come down to that.

Riza drove carefully, not using the headlights so as to escape notice. Roy kept his eyes behind them so that she could focus on the road ahead, and they managed to arrive without incident. She parked two houses down from the streetcorner, finding a spot that gave them a good vantage point over the entire street.

Roy wordlessly handed her a set of binoculars, and for over an hour, the pair was silent.

* * *

It had to happen, of course.

"I'm bored."

A sigh. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Entertain me, Lieutenant."

"No."

"Please?"

"Lieutenant Colonel, please focus."

"On what? Nothing's happening."

Riza gave another sigh, relenting. "How am I supposed to entertain you, sir?"

Roy didn't bother hiding the grin that formed at her words. "Tell me a story," he suggested.

"Sir, I wasn't good at storytelling when we were kids, and I haven't gotten any better," she replied dully. "Besides, I don't know any good ones."

"You could tell me a story about you," he tried, still hopeful.

The Second Lieutenant practically snorted. "There's nothing to tell you that you don't already know, sir. We've been with each other for a long time."

Roy didn't respond right away; Riza glanced up at him. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a small grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, we have," he agreed.

There was a small thump that came from Riza's ribcage, and she averted her gaze. Her epiphany in the ambulance was still fresh in her mind, and while it hadn't really been life-altering… well, she was only human, after all. Some things couldn't entirely be helped.

That train of thought led her down to the memory of the bullet he'd taken to the shoulder, and Riza tensed despite herself. "Sir… we'll be together for awhlie longer, won't we?" she asked, trepidation leaking into her thought of losing him scared her more than she cared to confess, and she'd already come close more than once.

Her superior's eyes fell to her, and reluctantly she turned to meet him. It was several long moments before a 'yeah' made its way past his lips.

Roy shook his head, regaining his composure. "Usually _I'm_ the one asking that," he laughed weakly.

Picking up her binoculars again, Hawkeye resumed surveillance. "I suppose as long as the answer's the same, it doesn't matter who's doing the asking," she murmured, and the subject was dropped.

It was another hour before Riza noticed that Roy had fallen asleep. Before she could move to wake and scold him, he shifted, inadvertently sliding into her and his head falling to rest on her own like they were made to fit that way.

With a final sigh, she let him sleep.

He was injured, after all.


	22. Equivalent Exchange

Blood.

That was what came to mind when she told him.

The way it felt against when splattered against his skin. The way it smelled when it permeated the dry air. The way it stained his hands, his uniform, his soul.

Gently, "I tried to tell you."

_Yes. You did._

Timidly, "I'm sorry."

He yells at her. For the first time in years, he yells at her.

_It's not **your** fucking **fault.**_

_It's mine._

* * *

**author's note:** in continuity with _Undeserving._


	23. Deep Breaths

It's decidedly a piss-poor night for pursuit, Roy thinks. There have been bouts of dry lightning and thunder all day, the air is stifling, and he is running on less than three hours of sleep.

But damn, they're _so close_!

Whoever this lady is, she gives them a damn good run for their money. The thief calls herself Psiren, though she does anything but lead them to her. She's led them halfway through Acquroyia before they realize they've been tracking a red herring.

And of course, when she takes cover in the lake, Hawkeye is the first to jump in after her.

He can already hear it. _"She mocked you, Lieutenant Colonel,"_ she'll tell him later, no amount of shame betrayed in her voice at her rash decision._"I felt a personal compulsion to take her down."_

Whatever. His Lieutenant is under water, that's all that matters right now. And she jumped in head first, and even _Mustang_ knows you're not supposed to do that.

Damn her pride.

Ten seconds pass, and Hawkeye hasn't surfaced.

Twenty, twenty-five, forty.

Psiren comes up, but the soldier doesn't follow.

Fifty, sixty, too long.

Roy's gut twists, he _knows_ something's wrong. Psiren's getting away, but that's irrelevant now. To his dismay, before he can make a move, a blonde blur streaks past the corner of his eye, jacket off and gun shoved into Mustang's hand faster than he can blink. Havoc free-falls off the bridge, feet first, and hits the water with a resounding echo.

The Lieutenant Colonel can only stare dumbly as he waits, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth as he hopes his Sergeant is able to do what he was too slow to accomplish.

It doesn't take long for Havoc to break the surface, Hawkeye in tow. Some noise distantly related to a relieved sigh pushes its way past Roy's throat, and he takes off, sliding down the bank to pull his subordinates out of the ice block this town calls a lake. Havoc immediately sets Hawkeye on the ground, wiping the blood that Roy hadn't noticed away from her mouth. 

Mustang's eyes nearly fall out of his head as Jean leans forward, pressing his mouth against Riza's.

"_Sergeant_! What the **_hell_**-" Roy shouts abruptly, choking on his own words as realizes (too slowly) what the man is doing.

Jean shoots him a glare before beginning compressions on the Lieutenant's chest, plugging her nose and breathing into her once more.

If he wasn't in such a foul mood, he might have laugh at the way Hawkeye's head slams into Havoc's as she bolts upright, the contents of her lungs seeing their way out. The Sergeant rubs at his forehead with a wince, though he makes no move to shift away from the Lieutenant.

He could be less of an ass about it, he supposes. But no one's going to make him, and not that he'll ever admit it, but he feels oddly threatened, and he lets this justify the way he shoves the blond man out of the way before pulling his Lieutenant to her feet. She sways, her head falling against Roy's chest, and he doesn't understand what's gotten into him tonight but he can't help but feel something akin to satisfaction.

"Are you all right, Hawkeye?" he asks, his eyes flashing to Havoc's and returning to the top of her soaked head.

She doesn't respond right away - she's still choking, and Roy awkwardly offers a few pats on the back to help her clear her throat out. Riza breathes, and pulls herself out of Mustang's arms. His jacket has a smear of blood on it, but it's far from the first time that's happened.

"You need to relax, Lieutenant Colonel," Riza snaps, removing her jacket with shaky hands. "And it would do you well to remember that now is not the time to raise your feathers."

Mustang's jaw drops, then hits the ground as she offers Havoc a wry smile. "Thank you for your help, Sergeant. Perhaps I'll speak with your boss about giving you a promotion."

And she saunters back to the car without sparing either man so much as a second glance.


	24. Reflex

"Thank you so much for coming," Gracia said, her green eyes shining in delight at her guests. Riza couldn't help but return the smile, handing her the bottle of wine she'd bought for the four of them tonight. Her hand tightened just slightly on Hayate's leash, restraining him from invading Gracia's personal space. As she and Roy entered the house, the woman knelt to pet him, scratching behind his ear and making his leg twitch. Riza unclipped his leash, hanging it up with their coats.

"Where's Maes?" Roy asked, setting a grocery bag on the kitchen table after slipping his shoes off. He helped himself to their fridge, placing the dessert he'd bought into it.

Laughing at Hayate's expression, Gracia stood up. "He's giving Elysia a bath; they should be out in a few minutes."

Dinner was nearly ready; Riza and Roy both lent a hand helping Gracia set the table, trying to make room for the oversized crockpot in the center of the table. Hayate sat in the living room quietly, gnawing on a chew toy. He knew better than to be underfoot in the kitchen - Riza had knocked that habit out of him very early on.

"Elysia, you're not dressed yet, get back in here!" came Maes's voice from the hallway. The little girl had wandered out in only her diaper and diaper cover, waddling towards the kitchen.

Riza had barely processed the excited yip that came from the living room before she saw a black streak in her field of vision, practically tackling the two-year-old. She hit the ground with a thump, immediately beginning to cry.

Roy was quicker than she was. "Bad dog! Get off!" he yelled, dropping the set of forks in his hand and running towards the dog. It was almost comical, the way he yanked the dog off Elysia, pushing him to the side to pick her up. Maes came to stand behind her, both men fussing over the little girl.

"I'm so sorry, Hughes-" Roy began, causing Riza's brow to crease in confusion. Hayate wasn't his dog, he certainly wasn't responsible for his behavior. If anyone should be apologizing, it was her.

Hughes waved him off once he'd ascertained that his daughter was all right, just shaken up. "It's fine, Roy, don't worry about it."

Roy shook his head, still visibly upset. "I'll go tie him up outside."

"Really, there's no need for-"

Roy had already crossed the room, Black Hayate still in his grip, and hooked the clip of the leash onto his collar again. "I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder, walking out the sliding glass doors and trudging out into the rain to find a suitable spot in the back yard.

Riza sighed as she watched her superior. "I'm sorry about Hayate, Maes. I trained him better than that," she murmured, turning to Hughes.

"No harm done," he told her, drying off Elysia's hair with the towel he hadn't let go of on his way out of the bathroom. She had mostly stopped crying, though a few gasps still wracked her small body.

"I'm a little surprised the Colonel reacted so harshly," Riza mused, picking up the forks he'd dropped. She handed them to Gracia, who hadn't said a word. "It wasn't his fault in the slightest."

"Doesn't surprise me at all," Maes countered, picking up his (still half-dressed) daughter and cradling her against his chest. "Reminds me of Ishval, in a way," he said quietly. "How he was with you, what he did for you."

Riza tensed. "What?" she asked, almost dumbfounded. She and Roy hadn't spent much time together until after the war was over - what was Maes even talking about? Had Roy told him about her tattoo?

Huges's gaze was filled with confusion. "You mean you don't know? Did he never tell you?"

"Tell me what, Maes?" Riza nearly demanded, her pulse quickening. It didn't sound like he was talking about her tattoo, which was a relief, but then what was he talking about?

"You remember Cadet Beck, don't you?"

Riza shuddered; Caroline Beck had been the only female soldier in Ishval save herself and Rebecca. She'd made the mistake of being female in a particularly sexist Lieutenant's presence, and of telling him where he could shove his nasty attitude. That night he'd snuck into her tent, and the details of what he'd done to her before killing her had made Riza need to suppress the urge to vomit.

"Yes," she said hoarsely, shaking her head to rid herself of the images.

"So does Roy," Hughes told her. "He stood watch outside your tent for two weeks after it happened."

Hawkeye stared at the Major, at a loss for words. "He…"

Hughes shrugged, trying to hand Elysia to his wife to take over setting the table. "That's how he is. It's like a reflex - if someone he loves is in danger, he reacts like it's himself. His survival instinct encompasses eveyone close to him. I shouldn't be surprised that he didn't tell you, though. You probably would've kicked his a- butt and told him you could take care of yourself," he added, censoring himself for the sake of the two-year-old still clinging to him.

Riza didn't have time to respond before Roy reentered the house. Her eyes fell to him, watched as he shook the rain out of his hair.

"It's really pouring out there," he muttered under his breath.

"Did you find somewhere dry to put the dog?" Riza asked him, finding her voice again as everyone began to sit down at the table. Elysia was still in Hughes's lap; Riza mused that he probably wouldn't put her down all night.

Roy nodded, taking a seat beside her across from Maes and Gracia. "I'll let him back in after dinner."

As Gracia began doling out the roast, Riza slipped her hand beneath the table, finding Roy's and squeezing it gently. She felt him stiffen before she felt his fingers close over hers, holding her hand there. She smiled softly to herself; even unaware of the reason for it, even so rare a display as it was, it was an automatic for him. Almost like a reflex.


	25. Tidal Waves

Riza Hawkeye is the first to admit she's drunk when she's drunk. Almost always, Roy Mustang is the last.

She doesn't quite remember when she lost count, but she knows she's had too much, and she knows Roy is way past his limit. He's done most of the talking - politics,promises, an occasional reference to a certain late Brigadier General slipped in without his notice - yet he's still managed to down more than she. His words are so jumbled that she's not even sure he's speaking English anymore, and he couldn't walk a straight line without someone holding him up.

It's a Sunday night, and they can't stay out any longer. Riza pays the bartender and hauls Roy outside, too far gone to be ashamed of the way they stagger out the door, and she decides to forego the car. She aims them down the sidewalk towards Roy's apartment, only a block from her own.

She's grateful she hasn't gone as far over her limit as the Colonel has. He hangs onto her tightly as she walks him home, babbling quietly on a topic she can't quite make out, though she can well enough guess. He's not angry tonight - a stroke of good luck. His temper often flares when he's inebriated, and usually she won't stand to be around him when he drinks. But it was his birthday, and with Hughes gone he had no one else to spend the evening with. He promised her he would keep his temper in check tonight, and he has made good on his word. But the alternative is meek, withdrawn, and a little melancholy.

He falls quiet soon, and Riza isn't sure if she should offer a response to anything he's said, but she's sure that either way it won't matter in the morning.

His keys jangle when Riza fishes them out of his pocket as they reach his doorstep, and to her surprise, the noise that comes out of his mouth can only be described as a giggle.

"Th-hat tickles," he mumbles, his lips pulling up at the corners.

Riza blinks and chuckles a little at that, glad to see anything on his face besides muted despair. "Sorry, sir," she says, only half-serious. The response she receives is a hand on her head in what she assumes to be a friendly pat.

They fumble into his apartment, Roy clinging to Riza for support. She flips his lights on, propping Roy against the wall as she clanks around in his cabinet, looking for cups as best she can with blurry vision. The pipes groan when she turns the faucet on, pouring a glass of water for the Colonel to ease any pain he might wake up to in the morning. Riza turns around, arm outstretched, and her hand hits the chest she hadn't realized was there. The water spills onto both of them, though Roy takes the brunt of the splash.

Riza musters up some sort of apology before reaching behind her for a rag. Her hand finds something threadbare and foul-smelling, but it'll have to make do. She presses the cloth to his chest, and slowly, his hands move to find her shoulders, pulling her in just a fraction of an inch. The rag is quickly forgotten and it falls to the floor mutely; suddenly all Riza can comprehend at the moment is how warm she is. Her mind fogs over, and their half-lidded gazes meet.

She understands what will happen now. There are objections that should come to mind, not the least of which being that they are drunk, but Riza can't help feeling _safe_ with him, and safe is not a feeling she has experienced in a very long time. This is something that should have happened long ago, or perhaps it should never happen at all, but nonetheless they are here, now, and it is what it is. Neither of them are stable enough to deny it.

The skin of Roy's face is rough under her trembling fingers, and when he dips forward, she is reminded of currents, of the moon and the tides. They've been pulling away from each other for so long that the push is almost violent.

The apartment reeks of desperation and need as they cling to one another, seeking solace in each others' breaths and bodies. They don't even make it to the bedroom - they fall into his couch, but that doesn't matter. It's of no consequence _where_ she has him, so long as she has him, so long as she can feel him. The man who made her who she is, the man she shaped into being, who completes her as much as she does him.

Soon it becomes impossible to tell what noise came from whom, who's breathing in and who's breathing out, where her skin ends and his begins. There aren't words, either because they don't need to be said or because they can't quite remember what they are. There are bite marks on her neck and red trails down his back, and every movement one makes jostles the other. There's no air between them anymore but that's the last of their concerns.

It doesn't last long, and when they hit that point, they collapse into each other, the fingers in his hair drawing pictures she can't verbalize. Just before he falls unconscious, his lips find her cheek.

Time passes in a daze in which Riza does not sleep, does not think, merely feels. The warmth that comes from the man atop her is soothing; the puffs of air that fall from his mouth dance with her hair.

It takes a little while to fight past the fatigue and the alcohol, but finally she regains enough presence of mind to realize she can't stay. Riza extricates herself from him as best she can, ignoring the pang of emptiness as his heat leaves her skin, and dresses silently. As an afterthought, she restores the Colonel's pants before draping a blanket over him; it's chilly, and he refuses to turn up the thermostat for fear of astronomical bills.

Before she leaves, though, she can't help but take a moment to brush the hair out of his eyes, a vague thought crossing her mind that he ought to get a haircut if he expects to continue to see correctly.

* * *

The next morning at the office, a heavy sigh escapes her lips as she watches her Colonel stagger into the room. He tosses her a wave, just like every day, though his eyes are unfocused. She freezes as he mumbles something incoherent about getting home last night, complaining about a thick hangover. She bites her lip as his moans echo through her mind and her heart sinks as she realizes.

He doesn't remember.


	26. I Feel Like I Can Trust You

She has a fondness for his back.

Among the myriad of assorted objects she keeps in the drawers of her desk at work, she never seems to lose her lint roller in the clutter. Every morning like clockwork, she brushes him up and down, muttering remarks about a man reaching for a crown who can't even keep up his own appearance. He isn't sure if it's intentional or if he's supposed to notice if it is, but she always lingers on his shoulderblades and the spot between.

Not once has he asked her to, but when he walks, she walks beside him. Except, it's not so much as his side as it behind him. She takes his request to watch his back very seriously, very literally. He can feel her gaze trained on him at all times, protective and steady.

The first time they make love, and every time after, her hands continuously return to his back, gentle in their touch. It never leaves her mind, even at their most vulnerable moments, the promise she made to him. Her fingers trace words across his ribs, the scar that formed from their battle beneath Central, his shoulders, his hips, the strong muscles of his back. They whisper feelings she hasn't yet worked up the nerve to say aloud, obvious though they might be. They promise him the world and all she has to give him, her comfort and her vigilance. She holds the reins to his very existence, and in her touch she vows never to abuse that power.

What he doesn't tell her is that he knows. He knows everything she's trying to convey, and what's more is she needn't worry for a moment. He trusts her wholeheartedly. What he doesn't tell her is that as she offers him reassurance in every way she can, his only thought is of her.

When the dawn breaks, she's already left, but the warmth of her hands lingers on his skin.


End file.
